John
by foreverwholocked
Summary: When his brother comes to him with the device of the century, Sherlock Holmes never thought he would grow attached to it.


**A/N:** This story is based on the fantastic movie trailer for the film 'Her', so go and watch that if you want to know where I'm getting my ideas from!

Sherlock Holmes was wrenched from his sleep by an incessant noise that he quickly recognised as the doorbell. The relentless ringing had crept into his dreams and woken him up, and he was not best pleased about it.

With a groan, he rolled over, squinting at the autumn light that was falling through the gap in the curtains. Sherlock glanced at the digital alarm clock on his bedside table, which read as a few minutes past ten o'clock, and he hauled himself from the bed, yawning and wrapping himself in his sheet as he headed downstairs.

Sherlock considered who could be wanting to see him at this hour. Most of the people he was acquainted with knew he didn't go out before midday. A client?- no, anyone desiring his help wouldn't be so petulant about ringing the doorbell. Unless they desperately needed to speak with him, which was unlikely for a client, so: it was someone he did know, then.

He pulled open the front door with a little more force than necessary and scowled at the person on the other side, making it clear that they had disturbed his sleep.

Mycroft Holmes stood tall on the pavement outside, looking down his nose at his younger brother. He was wearing a grey suit that didn't quite do any favours for his stomach and he was holding a black umbrella in one hand - despite the fact it hadn't rained in weeks - which he leant on just slightly, and he had some files tucked neatly under his other arm.

"What do you want, Mycroft?" Sherlock snapped. If it was another government case (they were tediously boring most of the time, but, work was work), Sherlock might just shoot himself. Or maybe Mycroft. He smirked very slightly at the thought.

Mycroft gave a thin smile. "It's lovely to see you too, dear brother, may I come in?"

"I did inform you yesterday that I wanted to speak with you," Mycroft said with a sigh as he sat down in the armchair opposite Sherlock's. The detective was hugging his knees, chin propped on top of them as he glared at his brother.

"No, you didn't."

"I did."

"Well, I deleted it, then. Hardly my fault."

Mycroft sighed wearily, rubbing his forehead with the tips of his fingers before leaning forward and handing the files he was holding to Sherlock. Sherlock took these after a moment of contemplating whether to bother, and examined them.

The folders were made from expensive card, and with a quick flick through the papers in one Sherlock realised they were from very high up in the government. Which, really, wasn't a surprise, knowing Mycroft.

Sherlock sighed heavily, realising that it might be a case after all. "What is it?" Sherlock asked bluntly, not bothering to read through properly.

Mycroft gave him a withering look. "It's not a case, if that's what you're worried about," Mycroft said. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, prompting him to go on. "Research labs from all over have been working on this project for a while now, including Baskerville," Mycroft continued, pausing to look pointedly at Sherlock.

"They have created an artificially intelligent operating system, or an A.I.O.S. for short," Mycroft went on. "It's a system that can be wired into a building to control things like security and heating, but one scientist had a particular breakthrough and has invented a software to give the A.I.O.S. a personality, of sorts, so that it's more appealing to retail customers."

Sherlock frowned. "If it's for the public, why are the government, let alone Baskerville, looking into it?" He asked, flicking through the folders with mild interest.

Mycroft smirked at that. "The system, if they do create more than one, would also be used to spy on certain groups, even possibly dispose of them, but," he gave a thin smile, "you don't need to know about that."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and leant forward, dropping his feet from the chair to the floor. "If I don't need to know about it, why are you telling me?" He asked sceptically. His brother must want something from him, or he wouldn't be here.

"Ah," Mycroft said with a nod. "I'm telling you because I want you to test the first prototype. You fit the criteria for the main audience we're looking at, so I thought you could—"

"Be your guinea pig?" Sherlock snapped. The idea of being tested on for government purposes disgusted him. "What, do you want to dispose of me, too?" Sherlock wouldn't put it past him.

"No, of course not, Sherlock," Mycroft said. "I know how much you enjoy… Examining things," Mycroft said with a glance to the pictures of the detective's current case stuck to the wall by Sherlock yesterday. "You're the best man I know for the job. Just write down anything you notice, anything you think could be altered…"

Sherlock pressed his lips together. "What's in it for me?" He asked after a moment. Mycroft looked surprised that he was even considering it.

"I imagine you would get paid for your troubles. And it would only be a trial period- a month, at most," Mycroft assured, smiling.

Sherlock thought about this for a moment before narrowing his eyes at his brother again. "What do you mean I fit the criteria?" Sherlock asked sharply. "What is the criteria?"

Mycroft sighed heavily. "Sherlock, you're… lazy," Mycroft said, hesitating before saying the last word. "You're irresponsible and are, apparently, only capable of feeding yourself when it suits you."

Sherlock pursed his lips at that. He knew it was true, not that he was going to admit it, but he hated being told he was irresponsible. "So, what, this machine is going to mother me until I can look after myself?"

"Think of it as having a flatmate, but just without the space in the flat being taken up," Mycroft said, picking his words carefully.

Sherlock scoffed. "What makes you think I want a flatmate?" He said sharply. Mycroft simply gave him a pointed look before pulling something out of his pocket and handing it to Sherlock.

"What's this?" Sherlock asked, trying his best not to sound too interested.

The rectangular object sat nicely in his hand, and was similar to a camera phone, but it was obviously not. The gadget opened out like a card to reveal a screen on the inside, which was dull black - turned off, Sherlock realised. He closed it again, examining the sleek design of the exterior and running his thumb over the camera on the front.

"It allows the A.I.O.S. to be portable," Mycroft said. "That can connect back to the main hub from six miles away." Sherlock nodded, still turning the device over in his hand. "I ought to remind you that that hand-held alone is worth over half a million pounds, so _do_ be careful," Mycroft quipped.

Sherlock shot him a glare, but stilled the device in his hand. The elder Holmes gave a forced smile. "Why don't you think on it?" He said after a moment, standing up and straightening out his jacket.

Sherlock watched Mycroft head to the door, thinking about the past quarter of an hour carefully. He looked back down at the device in his hand.

"I'll do it."

Mycroft was about to step through the doorway when Sherlock spoke up. He turned around, a small smirk on his lips. He didn't question Sherlock's decision, instead, "Excellent. I'll send a team over to install it right away." He paused. "You might want to go out for a few hours; I imagine you'll just get in the way."

Sherlock ended up calling Lestrade to see if they had made any progress with the case (which was optimistic, really, because they never had), and when that came back negative, Sherlock took the samples he'd collected from the crime scene with him to St. Barts.

He didn't even need to ask to use the labs anymore, which was nice- the people who worked there all knew who he was and why he was there.

When he'd gone into one of his preferred labs, he was somewhat disappointed to see Molly Hooper already in there. She was dripping a chemical onto litmus paper and had been so startled to see Sherlock that she dropped the pipette with a clatter onto the counter.

Sherlock refrained from sighing inwardly, and instead gave Molly a thin smile before moving over to the microscope and getting his samples out.

As he started to work, he was aware of Molly trying to make conversation, and with a roll of his eyes, he flatly informed her that he was busy and didn't want to answer her petulant questions at the moment.

She stayed quiet after that, to Sherlock's relief.

When Sherlock glanced at his watch later on and decided he had collected enough data, he got his things and left. Molly had left an hour earlier, probably after realising that Sherlock really _wasn't_ going to talk to her after all, so Sherlock didn't have to say goodbye to her.

He arrived at the flat fifteen minutes after. Going up the stairs, he could already feel something was different.

He hit the landing and paused, peering into his flat. The lights were turned off (hadn't he left the kitchen light on?) and the twilight outside cast shadows across the space.

Sherlock also felt as if he wasn't quite alone. Cautiously, he made his way into the living room, looking around before reaching to turn the light on.

They turned on before his hand found the switch.

Frowning, and somewhat alarmed, Sherlock looked around, and then—

"Hello, Mr. Holmes, and welcome to the A.I.O.S.."


End file.
